


at the pinnacle

by creabimus



Category: The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types, The Lorien Legacies - Pittacus Lore
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creabimus/pseuds/creabimus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six kisses Marina first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at the pinnacle

Six has always played war. Taking air into her lungs is the mere act of it; being turns her into this person who knows only the crack of bones against her grip and the taste of blood and ash in her mouth.

Even at eight and playing Barbies with the illusion she could mold herself into a girl as ignorant as the plastic bodies something flowed through her vessels. Her heart still beat in time with the memory of the spaceship and the other little children she’s destined to meet on a battlefield.

Yet, she’s never known war quite like this. She’s known the acrid of the compound, she’s known the measure of her own screams leaving her lungs, she’s known the burning of red-hot anger, she’s known the cool-blue of relief sinking into her bones. Yet, she hasn’t known this bone-deep guilt, this twisting in her stomach that goes deeper than Katarina (what a farce - nothing could be worse than Katarina’s).

John’s fingers shake against Marina’s body, as if her body is ticking and the countdown is too soon and not soon enough, and Six’s jaw clenches despite her balling fists and she wants to. Do. Something. She wants to heal Marina herself if only because she’s lived counting on herself and hasn’t quite gotten used to the burning taste of others letting her down.

And Marina isn’t Sarah; who’s to know John even _wants_ to -

She’s being stupid. Of course he would heal her. Of course (ofcourse).

When Marina’s eyes flutter open as if they might be butterfly wings, Six breathes a sigh of relief at the scarlet fading from underneath her fingernails. After Marina pulls John into an embrace, he leaves with his rows of demons that still attach themselves to Six’s shoulders.

“Six,” and Marina’s voice is like a hymn, and when the green of the grass bleeds into the dark of Six’s jeans Marina sits up from her cot. “how are you?”

And, Lorien, how could anyone be as selfless as her?

“I’m fine,” yet the words fall limply off her lips and something bitter like coffee yet not quite nourishing fills the back of her throat, and she leans forward.

Six doesn’t know what to expect, Marina’s lips on hers. Softness, she supposes, something to contrast Sam’s lips or John’s, yet around the grit and the sharpness of blood and the salt Marina’s soaked in from her years living by the sea some sort of warmth fills her gut that she hasn’t quite known in some time.

When she pulls away, Marina’s smiling yet trying not to and the freckles dotting her cheeks remind Six of the constellations numbering the skies their bones have been gathered from. “I’m fine,” Six repeats, and for the moment she is.

“Me, too,” and Marina’s forehead presses against hers. And they might not be fine tomorrow, or the next day, but in the future where the skies are almost tangible they will be until they bury themselves beneath the soils of another planet.


End file.
